


The Good Thing That Hurts

by herlovely (acidtowns)



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Abuse, Abusive Relationships, Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternating First Person - POV, M/M, On Hiatus, there's also a shit ton of metaphors whoops
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-02
Updated: 2013-11-02
Packaged: 2017-12-31 05:53:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1028033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acidtowns/pseuds/herlovely
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What is love? To Levi, it's the bullet. To Eren, it's the wound. Everything is fine when the cylinder is still, but when it rotates, someone has to pull the trigger.</p><p>Discontinued until further notice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Good Thing That Hurts

**Author's Note:**

> [ on temp hiatus until i finish junkyard ♥ ]

 

" _Your life does not get better by chance, it gets better by change_."

— Jim Rohn

> ###  **THE WOLF I**

When the sun rises, the wolf prepares. Its fur, a pale gray, blends in with the mountainous surroundings — an advantage created by nature, molded by nurture. It steps through the two inches of pure snow, then stops and raises its head. A gentle winter breeze grazes over its thick coat as the sun continues shining, mindlessly. It drops its head to the ground, sniffs, and walks on, leaving hidden tracks behind.

 

. . .

My old man never liked the color green. He always said it was a "weak" color in comparison to red, his favorite, which he said had "integrity" and was "the boldest." All his neckties reflected his preferred color, and all the neckties he bought for me were of the same shade. I grew up hating red, for I wore it every day around my neck to show my "integrity" and "boldness," but when I learned how far wearing red could get me, I came to value it.

All but three of my neckties are red. One of those three is black for formal events; another is dark blue for casual events; and the last is green just for the hell of it. If my old man saw the latter, he would've burnt my house down. He hated green that much. Fortunately for me, he's long dead, so I don't have to worry about him setting my closet on fire while I'm out.

I wear the green tie today — not because I feel particularly rebellious, but because today is the sixth anniversary of my father's death. Essentially, I'm wearing this tie as a big "fuck you" to him and his ideals. It may seem disrespectful in every way, but I only think of it as half-disrespectful. Despite how he raised me, I respect him as a man. He didn't grow up in the best conditions; his mother was piss poor, and she could only afford to send him to school for half a year. She — and everyone else, for that matter — probably didn't expect him to achieve so much in such little time. He was a boy genius when it came to numbers, and that talent got him nationwide attention. Success was his only future, and when he and my mother had me, I was the heir to all his success and fortune.

It's a pain in the ass — waking up at six every morning, choosing a red tie I haven't worn in the last two weeks, going to work, dealing with the dumbasses at work, and holding board meetings to ensure the survival of my father's wine company. I say my  _father's_  because, even though I'm his one and only son, I don't have full inheritance of the company. The old man partnered with another man — Ethan Smith — to start up this wine-producing company, and Ethan Smith and his wife had a son before my old man could even convince my mother to date him. Needless to say, the actual current CEO is Ethan Smith's son, Erwin Smith. I'm only the co-founder, because my father got laid four years too late.

But I don't particularly care. As long as Erwin's the one getting sued, I'm fine being the second in command. The only disadvantage is that he gets the paperwork and I get the workers. I'm not the easiest person to talk to, and I think I'm better fitted for paperwork, but I can't sit on my ass all day and write. That's not how I was taught to do things. That was, as father put it, "a green person's work." Dealing with people, on the other hand, was "the real red deal." Sure, whatever.

A droplet of water kisses my cheek as I head out to my car. I curse it, and I curse the darkened clouds rolling in, too. Today's the worst day for rain — partially because I'm wearing a white button-up, and partially because I have to visit my old man's grave after work. I don't mind visiting him; it's just that getting my shoes muddy is what's going to piss on my day. My hate towards dirtiness far surpasses my father's dislike of the color green. I can thank my mother for beating that into me. Her hobby was cleaning; she cleaned every chance she could, and if she wasn't cleaning, then she was still cleaning. She was a speckless old lady, always wiping the counters twice, always washing her hands for at least three minutes. The only good thing that came out of her obsession with cleanliness was that we didn't have to hire a maid.

But never mind her; if my father could see me now, he would disown me. Small, dark spots from the fallen rain decorate my pressed shirt. A few strands of hair, though originally slicked back, now shield my vision. And of course, the green tie I'm wearing would be the most hated. I'm his very definition of disheveled, but at this moment, I don't give a damn. I have thirty minutes to get my ass in my office chair. It takes me fifteen minutes to get there, five to get settled, but before that, I need to get my regular coffee fix. That's one thing I can't skip; caffeine keeps me awake through all the board meetings (and there's one scheduled in approximately forty-five minutes).

I usually go to a café called  _Carpe Diem_. It sits in a small corner at the end of a busy street and serves the best coffee I've ever had in my years lived. My only issue with the place is that the service is inadequate in a city that boasts with never-ending activity. On some days, I only have to wait in line for five minutes; on other days, it gets stretched to twenty, and considering my restricted time, I can't afford to waste that many minutes dwindling around for a three-dollar cup of coffee. The rain comes as a blessing, though. There are only two people in front of me. One of them is soaking wet. The other has a green raincoat on. It's a shame my old man's not here; I would've gotten a kick out of his fussing.

In three minute's time, I'm pulling out my wallet. "Give me the usual." I place a five dollar bill down and slide it to the cashier. "You can keep the change if you make it quick."

"What's your usual?" Hearing the cashier's voice, I look up. A soft smile adorns his lips as he awaits my answer, but that's not what makes my tongue ill. His face looks unfamiliar in this familiar place, but his clothes are as familiar as the other workers'. I raise an eyebrow. It's about time Carpe Diem hired another person; for the past year, I've seen the same two faces every morning, so it's nice to see someone new. "Sir?"

My eyes dart from his face to the menu behind him. "I'll have your strongest, nothing added."

"No sugar or cream?"

"Nothing added."

"That'll be $2.70." I nudge my five dollar bill closer to him, and he rings me up. "Will that be all?"

"Yeah, just make it quick." As he turns to fill my order, I lean against the counter. My gaze travels down from his lanky arms to his slender torso to his firm butt. Tight-fitting slacks stretch across his ass, defining its curve in all the right places. He burns himself with hot water then, and his ass flexes. A few seconds later, he turns back around and hands the cup of coffee to me. His sheepish smile compliments his flushed cheeks as he wishes me a good day, but I don't leave. "It's obvious that you're new here."

He rubs the back of his neck and laughs. My fingers tingle with concern as I tighten my hold on the coffee cup. That's one thing my old lady hated. Whenever we went out for dinner, she spent more time observing the waiters than eating. If they touched any part of their body and didn't go wash their hands immediately afterwards, she called them out on it. At times, she complained to their manager, and whether or not the worker got fired, we didn't know, because we never went back. I've walked out of multiple restaurants for the same reason, but there's no prickling urge for me to leave Carpe Diem.

"Well, yeah." His hand lowers to his side. "I mean, if you have a usual, I guess you know everyone here —"

"My change."

"Your change?" His eyebrows furrow.

My gaze shifts to the cash register. "I gave you a five."

"Oh —  _oh my God_." Face flushed, he ushers to give me back my change. "I'm so sorry, sir."

Not minding him, I accept the coins and count them. They come out to be $2.30 exactly. "Good job, you can count." I place the coins on the counter.

His cheeks turn a darker shade of pink. "Did I —"

"That wasn't sarcasm." Another reason why I'm second in command for my father's company is because I always have a sarcastic tone — or so I've been told many different times by many different people. The advantage is that I bring amusement to the board meetings; the disadvantage is that I don't sound professional. But the disadvantage rarely affects the company, since it's easy for me to argue my case, and if Erwin's there to back me up, the case is ours before the chairmen could even step a foot into the board room. "Keep the change," I tell the kid. He wasn't quick with coffee making, but he was quick to show me his nice ass, so he deserves the small tip.

I leave the café and drive to my work in record time. When I walk into the board room, the coffee cup is hot in my hand, but it's everyone's stare that burns me. I straighten my posture and tilt my chin up ever so slightly. "Good morning, gentlemen." The few stray strands of hair touch my forehead one last time as I take my seat at the end. Across the table, Erwin greets me with a soft frown, but I ignore it.

"It's nice of you to join us this late," one of the gentlemen says. I let my folder fall open as I look up to meet the man's eyes. He has crow's feet. If he smiles, then he'll look approachable; if he doesn't, then he'll look older. His lips form a straight line, and his gray eyes are cold. He looks about a hundred, give or take a few years. "Do you think coming in at this time is professional, Mr. Levi?" His talk is about a hundred years old too.

"My tardiness is hardly relevant to our discussion, but if you want to talk about that instead, you're free to leave." I raise the coffee cup to my mouth and take a sip.

The man narrows his eyes. "If you continue speaking to me in that manner, I will leave."

I lower the cup and lean forward. "Our revenues have been the highest in twenty-two years. We are the first choice wine company in the nation, and we will continue to hold that title. It's to your benefit to invest in us, but if you rather go home and cry to your momma about how rude people are, then —"

"That is enough, Levi." Erwin's voice resonances through the room. Some of the men sitting around the table flinch; others turn their attention away from me. Erwin continues, "I apologize for his behavior, Mr. Sanchez." I take another sip of coffee, then I lean back in my seat and fold my arms across my chest. Erwin clears his throat then, and rolling my eyes, I sit up and unfold my arms. He starts again, "As Levi was saying, the S&L Wine Company has been .." For nearly an hour, he drones on and on about the history of our fathers' company. He skims over how they gambled with business and praises them on their hard work and contribution to the economy. Half-way through, my eyelids feel heavy. Erwin's voice becomes lower and more distorted. I blink once, twice. At some point, I must've dozed off, because when someone grabs my shoulder, my head jerks up.

"Oi." My back cracks with protest as I sit up from my slouched position. "What's the big deal?" The words feel soggy in my mouth, and with a smack, I taste the remnant of this morning's coffee on my tongue. Gross.

"We lost the investment." Erwin's grip tightens around my shoulder. "I'm disappointed in you, Levi. Our Fathers would be, too." His hand slips away as he turns to leave. It takes five strides for him to get to the exit and five seconds for the door to close with a loud click. The only sound that proceeds is the gentle buzz of the room's fluorescent lights. I blink a couple of more times before I notice something wrong. All of the chairs before me are empty; my only company is the coffee cup that reads  _Carpe Diem_  in bold, black letters on the side. I'm alone, and from the looks of it, I've been alone for some time.

Hanji tells me it was the worst meeting she had ever been in. "Awful,  _awful_ ," she chants. "They said they wouldn't invest in us, because we're all lazy and rude. Erwin tried convincing them, but they refused us flat out,  _just like that_!" She snaps her fingers in front of my face, and I swat it away. "It's a shame! You know how much they offered us in the beginning? Half a billion! Are you listening to me, Levi?  _Half a billion_! Lost!" Her voice jumps another octave as she continues rambling about our loss. When we reach my office, she maneuvers her way in between me and the door. "Hey, you all right?" I step to the side in attempts to get past her, but she mimics my movement and continues blocking me. "You're quiet." The spark in her eyes are gone, making her look more like her age.

I resist the temptation to spit in her face. "I'm fine."

"You don't sound fine. Come on. What's up?" I adjust my green tie, and in turn, her sights falls from my face to my hand. "Oh .. It's today, isn't it?" She clears her throat, then glances up to meet my steady gaze. "If you need a sick leave, I can take over for you."

"Go away, shitty glasses."

Her lips twitch into a small smile. "That's the Levi I know, but seriously, if you need anything, ask." And with a few pats to my shoulder, she disappears from my vision. Though she's gone, her presence lingers. Her eyes bore into my back, as if she's waiting for me to turn around and accept her offer. I don't. Brushing the prickling sensation aside, I walk into my office and close the door behind me. The feeling of being watched stops immediately, and I breathe in relief. I've always hated that feeling. It's a constant bother. People don't watch other people for their successes; people watch other people for their flaws. My old man believed in that, so he always told me to hide my weaknesses.

I keep that promise for two hours, but when my eyes start to strain from reading twenty pages of eight-point font, I lay my head down. The side of it throbs, and I groan in protest. I shouldn't be here. I should be visiting Father's grave. I should be curled up in bed, sleeping. I should take up Hanji's offer, but the problem with going home early is that it'll ruin my perfect attendance record. Then again, the only big thing I had to do today was attend that meeting, and I slept through that, so me being here doesn't hold any importance.

Hanji comes in with two cups in her hands a few minutes before noon. "Erwin's still trying to get that investment we lost earlier." She places one of the cups in front of me, and my head rises accordingly to sniff the contents.  _Cheap company coffee_ , as usual. "The guy said he'll reconsider if you apologize — and this is a big investment. Big!" Her palms press flat against my desk as she leers closer. She reeks of male cologne; I wrinkle my nose. I don't particularly care what perfume or cologne anyone wears, but there is such thing as wearing too much, and Hanji here is a prime example of that.

"Shut up." I push my chair back to get away from the pungent smell. "The guy's an asshole. He probably won't consider it an apology until I get on the floor and kiss his feet."

She slams her hands down on the desk again. The coffee in both of our cups rocks but fortunately doesn't spill. " _Half a billion_!" she screeches. "That's five-hundred million! Do you know what we could do with that kind of money?" Her arms fly out to her side. "Technology! Research!"  _Technology and research_  — those are the only reasons why Hanji's here in the first place. She doesn't have a strong business degree in her file; she has an industrial-organizational psychology one, which means we hired her out of whim (or at least, Erwin did). "And do you know what else we can do with that kind of money?"

"Enlighten me."

"Buy better coffee! Think about it. Grade A coffee available to you every day, free of charge."

"I'd rather buy out Carpe Diem."

"We'll have coffee imported from France. The best of the best."

My eyes bore into her skull. Her grin stretches across her face in a cat-like manner. Time freezes for a few seconds, and when the clock ticks again, I stand. "I'll call him tomorrow." As I say this, I straighten up the papers on my desk and hand some of them over to her. "Tell Erwin I'm taking an extended lunch break until four."

"Will do! I'll take these to Erwin when I'm done with them." She embraces the documents as if they're her children. "And Levi, don't stay with your father too long." Her tone is soft, her words less accented. "I hear it's going to storm around five." With that said, she turns and makes her way out.

She sorta resembles my mother in a crazy kind of way. The old hag always kept to herself; she was a boastful woman when she was younger, but with age came silence. Growing up, I got an earful of her screaming and fussing over me leaving things around. When I moved out at eighteen, she called every hour to remind me to wash my hands; when Father died, those calls ceased to once a week, once a month, then once a year. I haven't heard from her since two Christmas's ago. A part of me thinks she fell down two flights of stairs and broke her neck, but another part of me knows that I would've received some call if she were to drop dead. It would be nice if I got that call today (going to the graveyard once a year rather than twice would save me gas money), but I don't sit around waiting for it.

I grab the cheap cup of coffee Hanji made and head out. The sun's warm rays greet me, but the October winds continue to blow. A flock of birds in a V-formation flies overhead and paves the Southern path. They honk, as if they want me to follow. When I don't comply, they call a final time before disappearing behind the patches of white clouds. I turn away.

The temperature inside my car doesn't compensate for the temperature outside; my fingers and toes are still stiff as I pull into Carpe Diem for the second time today. I'm no stranger here around lunch time. When I enter, Ymir — one of the baristas — hollers " _one deluxe turkey sandwich and coffee, nothing added_!" and a second later, Reiner sticks his head out from the kitchen and waves. "How's it going, Levi? I'll have your sandwich out in a minute." The only unfamiliar aspect to this scene is the person standing at the cash register. It's not Connie. It's the one from this morning.

His eyes spark with foreign interest as my attention turns to him. "That'll be $7.75," he tells me, smile still tight on his lips. "I'm guessing that's your 'usual,' too."

I hand him a ten. "I'd commit it to memory if I were you." His fingers brush against mine as he gives me back my change. "And I'm guessing you spilled coffee on yourself?" He opens his mouth, then closes it; his eyes are blown, his cheeks pale. A smile inches its way into the corners of my mouth. "Your shirt was a different color this morning." If he isn't wearing green, I wouldn't have noticed, but green is a screaming color.

"Yeah, um .. I was in a hurry." The tips of his ears are bright red. "It's Levi, right?"

"That's right, and let me guess .. you're Eren."

His mouth falls open. "How did you —"

I reach over and tap his name tag. "Nice to meet you, Eren."

Before he can make an audible response, Ymir nudges him aside and shoves a cup of coffee in my face. "You didn't bring her today," she accuses. "Don't tell me you made her run errands during her lunch break."

"She's out of town."

"When will she be back?"

"Next week."

In my peripheral vision, I see Eren leaning his hip against the counter. His shoulders lax, and he tilts his head. "What are you guys talking about?" At the same time I answer "Krista," Ymir barks "no one!" In turn, Eren folds his arms across his chest and quirks an eyebrow. "Who's this Krista?"

"Don't you dare —"

"My intern," I answer, "and Ymir's object of affection." It's been at least a year since I brought Krista here for lunch, and since that time, Ymir's been pestering me to bring her again. There's one thing that sets her apart from her goal: she has incentive but not initiative — she has Krista's number tucked away in her deepest subconscious, yet Krista is oblivious to it all. If my old man was here, he would've whipped her ass. He breathed the color red and lived the words " _beat your dreams into submission_." Needless to say, he didn't have any problems getting what he wanted.

"Levi, you betrayed me." With a huff, she tosses a bag labeled  _Carpe Diem_  in my direction. "Have a nice day, asshole — and tell Krista I said 'hey.' It's the least you can do."

"All right, whatever." My gaze travels from her pursed lips to Eren's raised eyebrows. "See you tomorrow, kid." He waves and flashes me this smile that continues lingering in my memory until I pull up beside my father's gravestone and get out.

There's no pride residing in my chest as I sit in front of the biggest gravestone around. Mother said he chose this one to flaunt his wealth. I digress; I say he chose it to emphasize his importance. He clawed his way up from the bottom, and he made a name of himself out of the dirt that followed. He wanted to be remembered, so when he chose this gravestone, he left his final mark as a sovereign. I saw him as a king. I never saw him as my father. What ties us together is our last name, which my father hated. He didn't like the sound of it, didn't like the look of it, so he tossed it completely and called himself  _Lance_. Up until seven years ago, I went by  _Lance Jr_. After he passed on, I signed off every document with my surname  _Levi_.

One day, he's going to crawl up from hell and drag me down with him.

But not today.

I eat my sandwich and drink my coffee in silence. My father doesn't dine with me; he rarely dined with me. On most nights, he would come home three hours after the old hag made dinner. On other nights, he wouldn't come home at all. Mother didn't care. As long as he didn't track dirt into the house, she didn't give a damn about where he had been or who he had been with. Father, on the other hand, had to know everything.

One day, he's going to find out the many things he didn't know.

But not today.

I pick up the cheap cup of coffee Hanji made me and bid my seventh farewell to Father by pouring it all over his grave. Then, I stay crouched, eyes running over the words etched under his name: ' _what lies behind him matters not to what lies within him_.' When people talk about my old man, they talk about his struggles. They talk about his incentive, his initiative — but they don't talk about what lies reside in him, because to them, he's a good man, and good men don't lie. Just the thought of that makes my stomach churn, so I stand. And with my tongue heavy and my jaw clenched, I turn my back on him and head home.

Sleep doesn't come easy, and Sunday doesn't come fast enough. My bed sheets are warm — have been warm for the last three hours — yet my body runs cold. There's no imprint in the space next to me, no remnant of the wild night I had two days before. Age plays me like a fool, because I don't need heaven; I need hell. But I don't want to find hell in a breeder, because that's what Father wants. Besides, I'm already five months too late. Erwin's expecting.

The sun's bright rays tickle me awake the following morning. I toss, and with slightly blurred vision, I make out the time. When I finally register the hour, my mouth runs dry. I sit up, cracking my stiff back along the way. Cold nips at my bare chest, but I disregard it. I scramble to check my phone, my fingers in a frenzy, and then I see it:  _Sunday, October 20_. I don't have work today. A part of me wants to curl up and go back to sleep, but another part of me insists that over-sleeping is bad. In the end, I decide to crawl out and get dressed, and of course, as always, the destination that follows is Carpe Diem.

Eren, in all his youthful glory, greets me with another one of his bright smiles. "You're back for our strongest, nothing added, right?" He looks smug leaning against the counter.

"Actually," I say, tossing a ten over, "give me that and one of your classic English muffins." As he rings me up, his bangs fall over his eyes, curtaining my gaze from his, but his eyelids flicker; he's watching. "So, did you go home and memorize my orders?" I ask him.

"I made flashcards and everything."

He offers me my change, but I push his hand back. "Consider it a reward for your hard work."

"You're spoiling me." There's no resistance; he tucks the money away, and with that, tucks the topic away as well. "But thank you. I'll have your order out in a few." He sticks his head into the kitchen, shouts "one classic muffin," then busies himself with the coffee machine. While the heavy aroma settles on the café's atmosphere, I find a small table to sit at. To my right, there's a soft buzz of conversation from a couple looking far too engaged with their talk; to my left, rows and rows of empty chairs. The significant lack of activity is alarming yet strangely comforting. I sit back, drum my fingers along the tabletop, then allow my gaze to drift back to the barista.

A barely audible melody sounds from the base of his throat as he goes to turn off the coffee machine. When he glances over his shoulder and meets my stare, the humming stops. I look away, and I don't mind him until he brings my order to the table.

"Will that be all for you this morning?" He stands to the side with one hand clasped over the other.

I take a bite out of the English muffin and grunting in approval, I motion him to sit. He does so accordingly. "So," I begin, "how old are you?"

"How old do I look?" I stop chewing to assess his looks. His shaggy brown hair and wide eyes make him look younger from afar, but up close, his jaw line is defined, his lips thin.

"Twelve."

He parts his lips. "Do I really look twelve?" His brow crinkles at the mention of such.

"Well, now you look eighty." I point to his forehead. "Don't do that." Earlier on, my mother would always flick my forehead whenever I scrunch up. She said it would make me wrinkle faster, and perhaps that's true on my account. Despite my age, my skin is still smooth. Hers, however, started deteriorating the moment she hit forty and stopped using makeup.

Eren huffs, but nevertheless, relaxes his expression. "I'm nineteen." I nearly choke on my coffee.  _Nineteen_. That's far younger than what I assumed. "Why does everyone find that surprising?"

"Because you look fucking twelve." The chatter to my right dies, so in turn, I raise my hand to give a nonchalant wave. "My bad." When the couple goes back to talking, my attention returns to Eren. "Are you really nineteen?"

He purses his lips much like Ymir. "Of course," he replies, words sour. "Why would I lie about my age?" There's a second of honesty that glints in his green eyes before stray strands of hair fall to shield his gaze.

My thoughts are muddled as I reach over and brush those locks away. He doesn't move, doesn't even flinch; rather, he continues watching me steadily, quietly. I sit back. "You have nice eyes," I tell him. They're green —  _green_ , of all colors — but they're a shade of green that represents liveliness and not weakness. If Father saw these eyes, he would forever shun Eren's genetics. But I, on the other hand, can't seem to look away. They toss a rope around my neck and draw me in, captivating me. I stare, trying to breathe, but the rope grows tighter and tighter until — he looks away.

"Thanks." A soft pink flares at the tips of his ears again, but in due time, the color fades. "So .. how old are you?"

"How old do I look?" I pop the last piece of the muffin into my mouth and chew.

"I don't know .. twenty-four?"

That's cute. "You're flattering me."

"Twenty-eight?"

I make a low guttural sound as I take a sip of my coffee. When the tension dissipates, I put the cup down and cross my legs. "Are you in college?"

His posture stiffens, his jaw locks. "So you're twenty-eight," he says.

"I'm not saying."

"But I told you my age." Eren puffs out his cheeks, then after assessing my sealed lips, he slouches in his seat. "Yeah, I'm in college."

"What are you studying?"

He hesitates for a moment. "It's my first year, so I haven't really decided between business and journalism. I'm taking prerequisites for the business school, but I'm .. not so sure."

If there's something I have to admire about other people, it's their freedom of choice. When Father started the S&L Wine Company with the Smith's, my future was set in stone. My only option was to follow the path that was already paved — no distractions, no disruptions. I didn't get a chance to go to business school, simply because the old man said the professors taught "bullshit tactics," so I studied in the comforts of my own home. He prided in me. He had this hope that I would make a name for myself, but here I am, spitting on his grave.

"Have you thought about advertising? That's both business and journalism." I pause, then add, "I'm the co-founder of S&L Wine Company. If you do end up pursuing business, I can get you internship opportunities."

At the sound of that, he sits up. "Really? That'll be great!" As he proceeds to babble on about his interests, my eyes fall on his mouth. His lips move with a certain level of drama — quickly, then slowly, widely, then barely. His tone and volume change with the motions in compliance to his words. It's almost like watching a movie, except his mouth stops moving when the café bell rings. Eren tilts his chin up and peers over my shoulder. I follow his gaze to see a young woman walk in.

"Eren," she calls out, exasperated, "I revised parts of your essay, but I need you to look over it again to make sure it sounds like you." She places a folder down on the table next to my cup of coffee, and it's then that she turns to where I sit. "Excuse me."

I wave off her apology. "It's fine. I was just leaving." Standing, I gather my trash, and after tossing them in the bin, I glance over at Eren. "Talk to you later." The hairs at the back of my neck stand while I make my way out of Carpe Diem. It's that bothersome prickling sensation again, but this time, I have a feeling that the person watching isn't watching out of curiosity.

The week continues on as usual. I spoke to the asshole investor twice — once on Sunday afternoon, once on Thursday morning. In the end, it's just as I thought: he couldn't refuse the offer. Erwin was thrilled enough to host a company party on Saturday, so I didn't get to see Eren until Sunday morning.

And when I do, he welcomes me with a cup of coffee and entices me with a smile. Ymir, who also happens to be working that day, isn't as warm. "You better bring her for lunch," she says, tight-lipped. "It's been a week, hasn't it?"

"Why don't I just give her your number?"

"I want to make sure she's interested first."

Though Krista has been my intern for the last two years, I know little about her interests. She likes to bake — I know that much, since she usually brings in cupcakes and brownies every Friday. She also likes dressing up and wearing jewelry. She might also like men, but I don't tell Ymir this. Instead, I say, "I'll bring her today," and with that, Ymir backs off with a grin.

Eren replaces her fairly quick; he takes a seat across from me, and his eyes shine with distinct enthusiasm. "So, I spoke to one of my professors about advertising the other day." His shoulders arch forward. "I told him about what you said about the internships and all, and he said I could do it if I really wanted to. Can I — Do you mind giving me your number, in case I want to contact you?"

I don't utter a word of resistance. When he slides a notepad and pen over to me, I jot down seven digits and push it back. "Call anytime after four."

"All right, sure. Thank you. You have no idea how much this means to me." He folds the piece of paper up, but before he can tuck it away, Ymir snatches it from him.

"What is this?" She holds it above her head and laughs at his attempts to get it back. "Is this Levi's number — hey, I was looking at that!" A chair topples over, and while she stops to pick it back up, Eren shoves the note into his pocket. I look away to hide my smile, and when I look back, Ymir has her hands on her hips. "Well," she says, "it's no big secret anyway. I give you props for being that sneaky, Eren."

I straighten up in my seat. "Did I miss something?"

Eren's sights jerk from me to Ymir. "Don't you dare —"

"But don't you think thirty-four's a little old?" She looks positively smug, and in turn, Eren looks positively surprised.

"Wait." He turns to me. "You're thirty-four?"

 _Well, damn_. "Thanks for blowing my cover, Ymir."

Her lashes flicker in a quick and barely noticeable wink. "No problem, babe." She throws an arm over Eren's shoulder and pulls him close. "You gonna ask him out?"

Eren's mouth falls open. "I don't — I mean, I .." His eyes wander over in my direction, but he avoids my gaze. Fingers trembling, he rubs his elbow then lets out a shaky breath. "It's not that I .. shit, how do I —"

"How about this?" I shift forward. "I'll take you out for lunch today."  _Fool's play_ , Father called it. Drag them on and lead them to believe that you're interested, when in reality, you're taking advantage of them. Except, this isn't fool's play. There's nothing Eren has that I can take advantage of. My offer is based on interest, and it's a type of interest I haven't had in a while.

Ymir cooes. "This is getting too much for me. I'm going to make some coffee." With a loud screech from the legs of her chair, she leaves the table.

I raise an eyebrow at Eren. "Your answer?"

He chews on his lower lip, but as he does, a faint trace of a smile grows at the corners of his mouth. He releases his lower lip and relieves his tense shoulders. "Yes — I mean, sure. Sure, that sounds great. This afternoon?"

"If you're not busy." I can't deny the heat that wraps around my chest. It's like the sun's shining right through.

"I shouldn't be. My lunch break is at twelve-thirty."

"I'll pick you up at that time. There's a restaurant down the street — unless you want to stay here?"

Eren shakes his head. "No, it's fine. Restaurants are good."

There's no point in me holding my smile back now. "Then, it's a date."

 

. . .

**When the sun rises, the wolf prepares, and the cylinder turns.**

_Click_.

**Author's Note:**

> !!! please take heed to this fic's tags, because yes, this will eventually become a fic based on an abusive relationship. i know this is a touchy topic for some of us, so i'm going to try my best to accurately depict what really goes on. if you would like to tell me your story, feel free to leave a comment below or send herlovely on tumblr an ask. i won't answer or publish any of these, so if you do tell, thank you. !!! -- aside from that, thanks for reading! ♥


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